It Feels Better Biting Down
by NotUrSquishy
Summary: [cross post Ao3] Not every bad guy is a coupon waiting to be redeemed. Good thing Peter Hale has always been a smart shopper. [Steter] Prison AU-kinda
1. Chapter 1

The place was surrounded by a massive chain link fence, generously topped in barbed wire, draped over like a sinister vine.

He couldn't decide if lighting would add to the ambiance, or take away from the whole "haunted house of horrors bring the family" vibe he was getting or not. The sheer energy from the complex had last night's Reese's cups threatening cession.

Stiles' stomach managed to heave itself up from the ground and he swallowed down the bile that had risen up in his throat. A female guard firmly prompted him forward. Her name tag read Kira. Her features were sharp and the flint around her eyes jagged, but the creases in her cheeks kind. She offered him a tight smile from behind the lines.

Once inside, it was all up to him.

Gate three clanged behind him like the lid to a coffin sealing a corpse's fate.

This was it.

Before him stretched a labyrinth, the like of which held no equal among the states.

Eichen Prison, rumored to be one of the circles of Dante's hell.

For the next few months, home sweet home.

The remarks about his looks might just be dirt over the grave to the funeral that awaited him. Hell, one guard had already come on to him today. If he heard one more time that this was 'No place for angels'...

Good thing he wasn't one.

He was immediately accosted by two guys right of the bat. One of the men had an eyepatch and his hair was growing out of some sort of military cut that had seen better days. Still, he was rather handsome in a roguish "I'll hold up your carriage and relieve you of your valuables" way. He planted himself at Stiles' right, with his companion on Stiles' left, boxing him in.

"What are you in for, kid?" Asked Eyepatch.

"Petty theft," Stiles snapped. He tried to read the guy's name tag. _The hell kind of name was Buckeye?_

"Well, shit. We've got a comedian!" Buckeye said, laughing and slapping his knee.

"No you're not -" Ridley? _Maybe that wasn't an e?_ Riply? _Could be a P?_ Ripple?

"Look, kid, you're in for three gas station robberies and a high-speed chase." Ridley declared shaking his head sagely.

"No way! I actually- " Stiles tried to protest.

Buckeye insisted. "That's your story, got it?"

"Really, I didn't-" Stiles fumed.

"Shhhh" Ridley interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Trust me."

"Trust you? We just met!" Stiles countered waving his arms wildly around.

"Now you're catching on." Ridley patted his shoulder. "There are some things you should know."

"I won't be anyone's prison bitch," Stiles spit out before he could think the better of it. He could feel his cheeks flushing.

"Right kid. The term is the wife, and with good reason." He bumped shoulders with Stiles. "A nubile young lad such as yourself ought to make an excellen' 'bride'."

"What about the guy from cell block -4?"

"That's not good enough for our lil boy, honey boo." Buckeye met Ridley's gaze, eyes narrowed. "Jesus man, the kids lanky all over and that jump suit's not helping! The damn thing's hanging off him like laundry on a line." He's too pretty is what Buckeye meant.

"The only one I can think of is block 6," Ridley recommended.

"You sure?" Buckeye looked at him skeptically.

Ridley asserted."Positive."

"Hey, this is me you're talking about!" Stiles pouted.

"Exactly! He's perfect."

"Mr. Perfect's beau also ripped that dude's throat out, man-" Buckeye revealed.

"Nah, it was _several_ men." Ridley corrected.

Stiles asked."I'm sorry, who?"

"This psycho chick. She -" Buckeye started to explain but Stiles interrupted again.

"No, not her. The guy."

"Yah ask the important questions! That'd be Peter. He's the Alpha."

"The Alpha?" He tried plying for more information. _Werewolves. Smashing. Well, this was a supernatural prison, so that ought to be expected._

"One of them." Ridley pointed out.

"The only one worth noting," Buckeye joked back.

"Don't let Deucalion catch you saying that." Ridley cautioned.

"Right. Cause I'm _so_ scared of Mister 'may I have another crumpet'." Buckeye mocked.

"Why is he in? Peter, I mean." Stiles questioned.

"Story is..." Ridley leaned in, casting a look around the place.

"Story's what?" Stiles repeated.

Buckeye swallowed. "He killed his sister."

"Right then."

"Chance of meeting anyone less homicidal?"

"Oh no, it's not that he's homicidal."

"Its that - "

"Nevermind." Buckeye broke in as though they didn't have time for this.

"Look, kid."

"You'll find I'm very much _not_ a kid," Stiles retorted.

"Whatever. The point is that you're slight as a prison bar. Which means they're going to be on your ass like wind banging a screen door in a hurricane."

"Well," Stiles drawled. "What do you -in your infinite wisdom- suggest?"

"Find yourself a husband fast."

"Haven't we already been through this?" Stiles challenged.

"No, I have," Ridley broke in. "Think I'm with Bucky here just for his good looks?" He jested.

"Good one."

"I know."

Stiles sighed. This was supposed to help him how?

"Stick with us for now and you should be fine. We'll weed out some of the lesser leches and get you a real nice thorn, Lil' Rose." The eye-patched man professed.

"That just fills me with confidence," Stiles murmured to himself.

"That analogy kind fell apart there. I give it a 5 out of 10," Ridley observed.

"Ridley, did I ask for your sass? It's not my fault that all we have are the classics." Buckeye lamented.

He gestured to Stiles. "Look at the material I'm working with."

"I think comparisons to Pearl might have been better. It's going to cost us a lot to keep him safe. I told you not to read that book anyway it always makes you sad."

"Nah, Rids, you're a softie don't even lie. Besides, he's got the sin bit down. He ain't here for no reason."

"True." The shorter man admitted with a soft grin.

"Betcha he can sin with the best of em, right?" Buckeye elbowed Stiles.

"Well, I'm young and impressionable. Who's to say who might corrupt me?" Stiles licked his lips and fluttered his lashes.

"Oh, my heart's a-flutter." Buckeye placed a hand on his chest.

"Oh my, indeed," Ridley repeated. "I think the question is more who _you_ might corrupt."

"Honey, our ill baby flower is going to have them all wrapped around his pinky and thinkin' he speaks honeydew, when we're through." Buckeye beamed.

"That strangely made more and yet less sense." Stiles took a step back at their matching grins. They both threw their arms over his shoulders, ignoring his reluctance..

"Come on now, tell daddy Buckeye all."

"I'm sorry, but do you mean _grandpa_?" Stiles gazed balefully at him before dissolving into laughter with Buckeye, at Ridley's false hurt.

"It's decided we're keeping em."

"Buh he-"

"Perfect. I couldn't agree more, love." Ridley interrupted.

Stiles needed all the help he could get. Besides, there were worse sorts.

He smirked. "So spill. I think it's time you gave me the rundown."

"Damn straight."Buckeye broke in. "Told yah' that he knows what's important. Our gem does like that in a guy."

"That's why you married me." Ridley quipped.

"Oh, I thought it was for the extra Jello cups," Buckeye shot back "Thief." He turned to Stiles confidingly. "This shit here used to steal em from me. The bastard."

"From your defenseless self, a major feat I'm sure." Stiles replied.

"Exactly."

"You don't even like chocolate or those garlic rolls." Ridley sniped. "Don't get him started on the garlic rolls," the slighter of the two warned Stiles.

"Given me trouble all my life that has. Hard for a fella to like something he's allergic to." Buckeye grumbled with a shrug jostling all of them.

"Right shame," Stiles assured.

"First things first, don't drop the soap or you'll end up stuck with fools like this." Ridley japed.

"Well, that I knew." Stiles confirmed.

"Hey, that's enough of that." Buckeye protested. He traded another look with Ridley. The two seemed to function on the same radio frequency of psychic messages. It's wasn't quite the soulful thing Scott had going on with-... Stiles clenched his fist then lets it fall loosely to his side. Best not to dwell on that.

The guys noticed his darkening mood and Buckeye spoke up. "C'mn we'll give you the two-cent tour." He gestured down the hall with an infectious grin.

"Not like I have anything better to do," Stiles confessed.

"Could always sit quietly and contemplate the transgressions that brought you here, or dramatically break down and find Jesus and join group therapy to talk about your abusive childhood that drove you down this hellish highway." Ridley suggested.

Stiles shook his head, smiling wryly. "That would involve me having regret."

"Fair enough. Onwards ho it is then," Ridley stated.

They made their way down the hallway and into a much larger eating area littered with tables. Some sat in clusters and other lingered on the edges. A few slunk around just beyond Stiles' line of sight.

"Well, welcome to our lovely Cafeteria. As you can tell, it's very five star." Buckeye motioned to the slop on the trays.

"Least food's free." Ridley ruffled his dirty blond hair.

"Included with the price of admission," Stiles said. Ridley and Buckeye howled at that.

Before they could really get too much beyond the space, a group of guys intercepted them.

"Oh look, another welcoming committee." Bull's eye quipped.

The men fanned out some. A few of them didn't look much older than Stiles. The twins with matching sneers in front of him, appeared especially young. So, jerks. Which meant easy to goad. Nice.

"Come to greet the newbie?" Ridley asked.

"Huh," Stiles articulated. "Where's this Deucalion you were telling me about?" Stiles frowned, miming he smiled and clapped his hands together. "I get it! You guys must be the cheer squad?"

The buff men glared harder, eyes flashing. Wolves. Swell.

"Nice light show. Do you come with pompoms as well?" Stiles said before he could stop himself. _Great idea! Antagonize the unknown enemy who can rip into human flesh without breaking a sweat. Stellar job Stiles, do speak again!_

"No." Snarled one of the twins.

"I don't see him yet. Can we sing the chant?" Ridley winked conspiratorially.

"What chant?" Stiles questioned gleefully.

Buckeye held up his fingers. 1, 2, 3.

"Hey Duke, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind." Buckeye broke into song.

"Hey Dukey!" He finished.

Ridley joined him for the finale with vocals like a screeching eagle going in for an attack on the last two words. Stiles wasn't sure if he should be impressed or horrified. Maybe both.

"It's a summoning spell." Ridley clarified.

"He's been avoiding us after all the work we put into the rhyme and everything." Bullseye admitted, frowning.

"Not very nice of him," Stiles quipped.

"You're exactly right" Ridley echoed.

"Shove off the fresh meat." The wolf to the right challenged.

"Yeah," sniped another with close cropped hair. "Ethan wants to play."

"Ethan can play elsewhere." Buckeye warned.

"Gentlemen." The word rang out echoing in the drafty hallway. The speaker's tone scalding, as freshly made tea is to the tongue. A fairly attractive man, whose every motions were crisp and precise like a king, stepped at the head of the group, with a pair of sunglasses perched on his face. "No need to be rude."

"Yeah." Ridley broke in.

Stiles could feel the tension in the man's body despite the lazy fair quality to his voice.

"Proper men understand that no means no." Ridley waved his hands about and the Wolves gazes immediately snapped to follow the movement. Stiles hid a smile. Predictable.

"Your boys are proper, ain't they, Deucalion?" All the while, Buckeye shifted Stiles more between them, looking about to make sure none of the other bystanders who gathered like moths to a flame were going to make a move.

"Just as you say."

"See, I kinda doubt that, but here's the thing. This boy here's not for you."

"Oh?" The Englishman's skepticism was tangible. "I know he isn't yours."

Then whose is he?

"Isn't that right, pretty thing?" He addressed Stiles.

The young man swallowed, knowing it would be interpreted as nerves, not him trying to bite back his anger before he killed this English fucker. Stiles was nobody's thing. Never again. He had vowed before the light of the full silver moon, enemies at his heels. Those weren't the kind of promises you break.

For a moment he was back there, and the spirit of Eichen rose within him ready to turn his anger from a wave to a raging tsunami. His body thrummed with energy swaying with the shadows on the walls. Shit, if he didn't get this under control... Stiles looked down, concealing his eyes.

"Come now." Deucalion beckoned Stiles like an errant dog.

Wow, the guy was still talking? Just how much did he like his voice? Hello, is 'conceited' in residence? Why would he ever go anywhere with this guy? Yeah sure, to an outsider he might have seemed impressive. In numbers.

"I don't come for just anybody." _Excellent rebuttal, Stiles, that will show him_.

Deucalion clearly thought he was not just anybody. If that smile was anything to go by it said, 'oh you poor misguided lamb let me show you the way'. It wasn't helping that he felt as rotten as stained milk gone sour to Stiles' senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Yeah Duke here scored high on the bad-wrong factor. Stiles could still sense the violence of past fights lingering in the stone beneath his feet, calling to him with increasing fever.

Maybe he could still use his abilities? No time like the present.

"Darling boy, I can take you places. Just follow me," Deucalion cajoled.

Stiles swayed with power. He just managed to pass it off as flattered.

"I know this is forward of me," Stiles simpered, looking up at him through his lashes demurely. Hook.

Deucalion raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" The man extended the word, looking Stiles up and down suggestively.

"I have this thing for people telling me what to do-" He bit his lip. Line.

Deucalion stepped closer, gaze falling on Stiles lips. Sinker.

"-and it's that I don't fucking like it!" He snarled viciously. "So paws off, bub." Deucalion actually took a step back, to the shock of the other inmates and Stiles' satisfaction. So the wards hadn't dampened everything. Good to know.

"Right." Stiles shook himself grinning brightly. "Seems like you have somewhere to be." Stiles made a shooing motion.

Deucalion's brows furrowed.

"Well go on then. What are you waiting for? By all means, the nearest elementary school is about twenty miles away."

Deucalion ignored the boy's nonsense. "I'm not asking."

"Oh, so you're offering? Cause I haven't seen you bring anything to the table here. Like candy, or wifi, or a get out of jail free card? Which brings me back to my point. Just out of curiosity did you happen to own a white van before your detainment? Cause soccer mom, you are not. Not that there's anything wrong with soccer moms. I mean, besides the obvious like 'geez no soy, triple macchiato, no whip grain blend' vibe you have going on. I mean. The heck is that. Still you might not look bad in yoga pants. That's not to say you'd look particularly good either." Stiles paused to breathe. _When in doubt, ramble your way out._

"He's right," a cultured, distinctly masculine, and distinctly pleased voice smoothly said from Stiles' right, as if the mention of fashion had manifested into an avatar into physical being.

"I am?" Stiles rhetorically asked, interested in luring this third party into the light. _I know you're behind me, you suave-sounding motherfucker. Come out come out wherever you are._ All around Stiles, the silence was telling. You could hear a cell door clang shut from five levels above. Even Buckeye and Ridley might as well have turned to stone. Whoever this was, he was big news.

"Pink would look simply ghastly on you. Almost as bad as arrogance." The individual divulged. "Isn't that right, Sweetheart?" He addressed Stiles.

Ha, as if! He stifled a snort. The new pet name was still an improvement. "Charmer." Stiles teased.

"It's been known to happen."

Deucalion's pose went ramrod straight. _Bad in a fight, for you want to be loose and flowing. Not tense as a bow string,_ Stiles noted.

Deucalion smiled gamely. "Hale."

"I don't mind if you do." The new man leered. His body wasn't muscled in that way of a sculpted figure. No, he was hewn, pulled roughshod form the mold, not finely chiseled concrete that had been worked away at in some nice indoor gym. His physique spoke of survival or necessity a toned in such a nature that the muscles were visible bunched and straining beneath the confines of his jumpsuit. Hale didn't move _like_ a king. He _was_ a king. The sheer confidence in his every step was magnetizing. He didn't just monopolize the room; he encompassed it.

Stiles tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Hmm. Once in clear view, the man all but gave a mocking half-bow to Stiles. He did, however, offer Deucalion a two-fingered salute. Stiles felt his answering curtsy was most appropriate.

"Hilarious," Deucalion dryly said, making it clear that he found the man anything but.

"Who is that?" Stiles whispered to Ridley.

"I'm Peter," the new man answered instead, great shoulder muscles rippling as he turned, clever eyes clearly assessing Stiles.

Then he did what is by far sworn by prisoners everywhere, and talked of in reverent tones to this day over toilet water wine, to be one of the scariest things ever witnessed.

He smiled.

Sharp teeth glimmered like well-cut diamond, though twice as shatterproof.

Stiles gasped when their eyes locked, spellbound. His blood sung beneath his skin, lamenting the distance from Peter. He needed to be close, like peanut butter needed to be with jelly, or foxes in with the hens, or air in lungs. The refraction of blue brought out the brilliant garnet in those eyes. Stiles' heart didn't so much as attempt to slide from his chest, as it did just plunge over a cliff directly into to oblivion. The floodlights above, all but casting a breathtaking glow across Peter's features, sweeping them from harrowed to gleeful in the way of wolves before a kill.

"You must be Stiles."


	2. Chapter 2

"That's it, break it up." A large older man in a guard uniform intervened.

"Argent." Peter mocked.

"Hale." The guard stated.

"Chris." The englishman snapped out.

"Deucalion." The man dryly supplied. "I can play this game too." Chris smiled. There was nothing nice about it. He turned to speak to Peter. "Hale. Isn't your cellblock on the other side say that way?"

"Just out for a stroll, no need to get testy." Peter raised his hands in surrender.

"Right, well, stroll yourself back to your bunk." He raised his voice " That goes for the rest of you lowlifes too".

Deucalion bowed out, gracious as you please and the rest of the Alpha Pack followed him with a few parting growls.

Ridley and Buckeye grabbed Stiles arms. "C'mn, let's go."

Chris turned on a dime. "Not you." He gestured sharply to the group with Stiles.

"Stilinski with me."

"We've got to skedaddle kid, best don't keep him waiting. We'll be around." Ridley and Buckeye reluctantly beat a hasty retreat.

That left Argent and Stiles in the Cafeteria. Alone.

"Look, man, I didn't do anything."

Chris huffed. "Right that's what they all say. Fall in."

"Yes Sir." Stiles quickly said nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Argent abruptly stopped walking and eyed him like Stiles was the crazy one here. _God it was like facing his dad_.

"He just- " Stiles attempted.

"Stilinski." The man just looked at Stiles expression stony. Stiles gulped.

"Still didn't do anything." _What if he knew? No. He can't. Nobody does._

"I'm aware of that, thank you." Argent succinctly said.

"Sweet. So you can just let me go right?" He used his best puppy dog eyes, the ones Scott taught him. They didn't do much against the man, since he had his back turned, but it was the thought that counted.

"No."

Stiles shuffled his feet, following reluctantly. He cast his eyes about, trying to memorize the route. "Nice -uh- prison you got here. Love the decor, vibrant choice, garnish orange really doing wonders for the dark forbidding atmosphere. Setting my mind at ease."

"This is a correctional facility." Argent said tone dryer then the arctic tundra.

"Don't stop me now, I haven't even made it to, the crown molding, wait no that's just mold," he mumbled trying to diffuse the tension.

Argent shook his head. "Just take your phone call."

"Right. Yeah, I can do that."

The guard opened the door.

Stiles stood in the entryway for a moment. "In the very dark, scary room, all alone?"

Chris arched and eyebrow.

"Ok cool, where else could it be, totally going now, watch me." Stiles squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

The echo of the door closing behind him shouldn't have felt so much like the sealing of a tomb.

"You can come out now Peter," the guard wryly addressed the shadows crossing his arms.

"I've been out for years Chris."

There he was, striding from the corner easy as you please, Peter Hale.

Chris remembered a time when those shoulders weren't so high, when that face held a smirk that while piercing, wasn't as jagged a cliff edge. Where every interaction with the person before him left the Hunter elated as if plunging from 20 feet into thin air without care. Now each conversation held the chance of jagged rocks below.

The hunter grimaced. "Just get over here already, would you, before I get testy."

"Forceful." The wolf emphasized with a leer. "I like it."

"I'm calling in that favor." Chris started, ignoring the other man's words. "Remember-"

"I remember," Peter cut in, his voice casual and almost flippant, even though the words felt sharp as if Chris had taken his own hunting knife to the chest. "I always felt it was more of 'you owe me' than 'I owe you'." The werewolf shot back, undeterred.

For an instant, he reminded Argent of time passed, yet again. The other man still had not stared directly at him. Chris cleared his throat. _God he was a piece of shit_. "Promise me," he said, then sighed. "Peter," he tried again. "Peter, please look at me." If he could see those blue eyes just once it would be enough.

The werewolf stilled, all trace of humor leaving his body. He waited for Chris to continue.

"Promise me you'll look after him."

"Funny that." Peter stepped closer lifting his chin.

Those vibrant blue eyes Chris knew so well met his own. It felt like coming home. Years of history stretched between them and fell away in an instant.

"What happened?" Chris couldn't help but ask. _How could I lose this_? "What happened to us," he reiterated reaching out his hand longingly.

Peter turned his face away with a flinch. "What always happens," the wolf said.

Chris pulled away abruptly, aborting the movement.

"Do you think," Chris breathed back, "if we hadn't been us, if it were a different time a different place..."

Peter finished with a quiet murmur.

"No."

 _Yes,_ Chris hollowly said. The walls had ears.

"Chris..." Peter started.

"Don't. Just don't." He grimaced hushing the wolf. "There's not much time left. I need you to take this and protect him." The hunter reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper. He discreetly passed it over.

"This should be everything." _This is goodbye._

"Not like I have a choice. It's been sealed in ink." Peter sniped then frowned when he received no answer. Chris's heartbeat was... gone? "Enough with the dramatics," he called out.

Argent still didn't materialize.

"Fine." Peter growled sinking to his knees, the tips of his fingers forming claws. "Fine, then have it your way, I promise." He swore surging to his feet. "You hear me." He hissed, face warped by anguish. "I promise." He roared into the empty air, the rattle of cell doors ghosting down from above his only answer.

 **Call Transcript: 7:39 Subject N0.669 Report: Inmate N0.339**

 **N0.669:** You know I love you bro.

 _SUBJECT'S HEARTBEAT ERRATIC - LIE DETECTED. CALLER FRIEND OR LOVER?_

 **Caller:** Stiles.

 _INFER TONE SEEMS FOND OF SUBJECT_

 **N0.669:** You know I care.

 _HEARTBEAT REPORTED AS EVEN. TRUTH._

 **Caller:** Dude. I know, always you're my -

 _FRIEND? LIST KNOWN CONNECTIONS?_

 **N0.669:** Shh! S- I mean red apple. Really red apple.

 _CODE? AWARE?_

 **Caller:** Oh! Almost forgot you were in there and would uh be missing fruit. Want me to bring you some? It's a little soon but I know how you like your fruit.

 **N0.669:** *laughs* Nah…

 **Caller** : Ok man.

 **N0.669:** So not even going to pretend you're worried about me?

 _SUBJECT DOES NOT SEEM UPSET OR RESIGNED ONLY CURIOUS_

CONNECTION FAILURE

Caller : …..more like…..them…..be...careful.

SYSTEM ERROR RECORDING INCOMPLETE

ORDNANCE: **Kate Argent**

"Boo."

"Ahh HOLY SHIT!" The boy squawked, doing an excellent pterodactyl impression. Really the guys six floors up probably heard him.

"Gee, somehow didn't see you lurking behind that door there. Tell me, Peter, is it still considered stalking if you're a professional? I mean you're not getting paid unless you are, then I want in on it, cause man you suck and you conveniently are everywhere I am."

"Stiles, my cell is on this side of the wing." Peter inclined his head to the opposite hall mildly amused. "I happen to be an expert." He cleaned bits of blood from his nails. "Werewolf, remember."

"Doesn't explain why you are clearly waiting for me to leave this room."

"Maybe I wanted to use the phone," Peter challenged.

"Name's not on the list," the younger man said, eyeing Peter doubtfully. "Against the rules."

"I'm a criminal."

"You got me there," Stiles admitted, shrugging his bony shoulders. Really Peter needed to do something about that. The way the jumpsuits nearly fell off his boy's body and showed off those moles and that elegant neck and bare collarbone was indecent. His boy? Peter grinned to himself. This was going to be fun!

The boy began walking in the opposite direction. Peter let him, taking in that delectable backside for a few more feet. Ah. Shame. Plenty opportunity for more of that later.

It was tempting to let him go to wait, to watch this unfold. Backing off would be the right thing to do. He could let the self righteous fool learn on his own. _Promise me._ Fuck. Chris could never leave well enough alone.

"That's one betting poll I'm going to win," Peter remarked, aiming for the younger man's inquisitive nature.

Stiles wheeled around looking ready to spit fire.

"It's just been confirmed." Peter trailed off.

"What's been confirmed?"

"You're a screamer," Peter predicted letting the implication sink in, then just because he could. "Bunkmate."

"Bunkmate." Stiles repeated stomping back over to him. Peter was always happy to be the bearer of bad (in this case good?) news. He simply held out the paper.

N0. 407 NAME: Peter Hale

N0. 669 NAME: S. Stilinski

ASSIGN: Shared

CELL BLOCK 6

CELL 45

"Why didn't you join up with Deucalion?" Peter asked, leaning against the wall. He had spent years perfecting his loom and was very proud of the effects.

"He's scary because of the whole group thing." Stiles vaguely articulated from where he sat cross-legged on the bottom bunk. "Take that away and he's just the Demon Wolf. "

"Just The Demon Wolf?" Peter commented.

Stiles scowled at his pants, fingers distractedly pulling at the loose threads. "Literally, he's only rumor. One time with the guards or some shit." Stiles shook his head. "The rest of it, is from the pack or the Twins." He sighed heavily as if explaining all this was the most taxing thing he had done all day.

"On the other hand, you are Peter fucking Hale, people shit their pants when in your presence and that's all you."

"With a glowing statement like that, how can I protest?"

"Please, you're a devil's advocate if I ever met one. You'd argue just to hear yourself speak."

"Are you sure we're not talking about you?" Peter poked.

"Point. Besides, let's be real about Deucalion, the dude can't see past his nose." The boy rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I've always found him to be rather... _short sighted_."

"Peter!"

"What? You started it." Peter retorted. He pushed himself off the wall and silently stalked towards the bed. He leaned over Stiles. The boy shuddered, entire body twitching. Peter stepped up his game and blew on his ear. The reaction was instantaneous. The boy leapt up and bonked his head on the metal above him with a yelp.

Even with werewolf reflexes, Peter was barely fast enough to stop him from kissing the cement below. He yanked the boy up onto the bed beside him with one arm.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" Stiles growled trying to shake him off.

Really it was too cute. Like a kitten fiercely pawing at some yarn, like it thought it were strong as a lion.

"Going to bed."

Peter opened one eye, chuckling at Stiles who was still futilely shoving at him.

"Let me go," the boy groaned again, frustrated and annoyed. "We're not sleeping together."

A lovely crimson flush was spreading from the boy's face, down to his neck. "We're not _sleeping_ together, _yet,_ Kitten," Peter purred. "Trust me you'll know when you're ready."

"I mean sleep, yeah sleep, cause there are two beds, isn't this the part where you tell me the top bunk is yours or something."

"Stiles," Peter hummed and moved his left hand to the back of the boy's neck, cradling him in a comforting manner.

"Y-es."

"Go to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

911 Call Transcript Beacon Hills

[in the corner rests a coffee stained note help by a paper clip: "Parrish My office 01900 -Sheriff]

Report: Filed Case: ongoing

Operator: This is 911, how may I help you?

Caller: Oh god!

Operator: Ma'am where are you?

Caller: The...the.. preserve.

Operator: Ma'am I need you to remain calm and explain what's going on?

Caller: He's... He's ...oh my god!

Operator: Ma'am?

Operator: Ma'am? Are you still here?

CONNECTION FAILURE

Caller: It's...its... the Sheriff's Kid.

SYSTEM ERROR CALL INCOMPLETE

Parrish checked his notes and eyed the clock. It read 6:45. He had a few more minutes to figure out just what to say, before he had to meet with the Sheriff at 7 pm.

He looked at the information in front of him. Well, 'fucked' would be putting it mildly. Someone had to give the report. He lingered for another moment, gathering his things. His fingers went to the Deputy badge on his chest and he rubbed his hand methodically over the metal. With a sigh, he stood. It might very well be the last time he saw this desk. Parrish examined the orderly space with a critical eye. Nostalgically, he adjusted the group photo of him and his buddies in uniform. He tarried over the frame an extra second.

Parrish smiled, as he remembered the day Stiles had gotten the genius idea into his head that it'd be fun to move everything over two inches. And by everything, Parrish meant everything down to the actual desk file cabinets and trash can. He'd spent the entire day stumbling around like a newborn puppy. He'd even bumped into the lamp, sending the thing careening across the room. Well, at least Stiles had gotten him a new one. The Hello Kitty lamp shades were a nice touch.

Jordan raised his shoulders, picking up the papers. _Take it like a man, Jordan. You might be a failure but you don't have to be useless too, you sack of-_

Parrish strode down the hall, the echo of his shoes sweeping away his stray thoughts like a broom does cobwebs.

He paused before the Sheriff's door and stalled for a moment examining it. The wooden structure has seen better days. A few stray stains graced it. The inconspicuous knob of the door was made of well-worn brass. It was dented and so was the wall to his right, proving that it had often been violently opened.

He shook himself and raised his fist, tentatively knocking on the wood.

"Come in," the Sheriff answered gruffly.

Parrish swung the door open, clutching his files against his chest like a lifeline. He laid them on the desk and took a step back, falling easily into parade rest.

He shifted his feet uncomfortably in the silence of the room.

"Uh," Jordan tried. He'd never been this nervous since the first day of basic.

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow but his expression was gentle. "Yes?"

"That is sir, we have some... never mind."

The Sheriff sighed and put down his coffee mug. He turned his chair fully around to face the Deputy. The set in his brows conveyed that he didn't have time for this bullshit.

"Well, what is it?"

"Stiles, Sir."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

The Sheriff ran a hand through his graying hair and took another sip of his coffee to steel himself. "Go on."

"We think he has a prison wife, or is a prison wife, we're not quite sure."

"Who is it?" The Sheriff tapped his fingers on his mug.

The Deputy mumbled something.

John cleared his throat expectantly.

"Peter Hale," Parrish confessed.

"At ease Deputy, we don't stand on formality here. You're among friends," the Sheriff said leaning back into the chair which protested by creaking like it was about to drop him.

"Peter Hale." The older man contemplatively examined his glass. "What is he in for?"

"Arson, murder, aggravated assault, and several other small crimes."

"Oh thank god." The tension, strangely enough, ebbed from the older man's shoulders.

"I was worried you'd say 'sexual assault'. Hale... that name sounds familiar. From around here?"

"He's got a lot of family in the area. His nephew Derek is around the same age as Stiles."

"Any chance he'll recognize Stiles as my son?"

"They've been cohabiting for a few weeks now. If he realizes something's up, he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut."

"Hmm." Stilinski frowned moving a pen across his desk and into his shirt pocket.

"Come here Deputy, take a seat."

Parrish rigidly sat. _Don't slouch, didn't I teach you better manners than that?_ He fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.

"Awfully warm out, for that attire." The Sheriff gripped his belt, adjusting it.

Parrish gulped.

"Nights can get chilly."

"They can."

The Sheriff leaned closer. Parrish tugged at his cuff again. The slide of fabric against the bruise underneath was jarring.

"Is that makeup on your collar"

Parrish hands flew to his neck.

"I know what you've been doing."

"Sheriff, I-"

"The underground fighting has to stop. Are you trying to punish yourself? Or is it for the money?"

"I-" Jordan swallowed, shoulders hunching. "How did you know?"

"I have a son of my own. I know when someone's keeping something from me."

"At first, it was the money. Now..."

"You can't stop."

"No, I uh..."

"You what?"

"I need it, Sir." Parrish hung his head.

The Sheriff stood.

Parrish flinched, curling in on himself. The thunk of the other man's feet moved closer. _That's right boy you do what I say._

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hey, son. It's going to be alright now."

Parrish hands trembled and his body shook.

"We take care of our own," the Sheriff promised, his hand a grounding weight rubbing comforting circles.

Parrish sobbed despairingly into his knees.

"It's alright, let it out. We'll talk about this more, later. That's it, breath."

"I'm sorry. Sorry, I'll-"

"Jordan, you're strong and you are successful. Never forget that."

To Parish's horror, another round of tears threatened in his eyes. _Men don't cry. This is just further proof, face it, you're a girl._

"Success means corporate, means a house with a picket fence, and a docile woman with my ring on her finger," he recited, resigned eyes fixed on the desk in front of him.

"Somehow, I don't believe that's what you actually think, you wouldn't know what to do with a docile woman, you'd be bored out of your mind. The mere concept is ridiculous. Deputy, you're a good man and I'm proud to have you on my force. Success means enjoying what you do and being good at it. Am I right to think that you enjoy working for me?"

"Yes, sir," Parrish answered immediately, lifting his head. He offered up a weak smile. "Can't forget that the benefits dental plan is great."

"Damn right it is. You're going to be alright, son."

"I'm going to be alright."

The Sheriff nodded curtly, almost to himself, and stepped back to the edge of the desk where Jordan had left the files. He picked them up and thumbed through them, expression unreadable, his gaze fixed on the pages. Parrish unfolded himself, not quite as raw as a fresh wound. This was an old scar.

"That's all I have," he admitted, feeling wrung out like a wash rag that had seen to much use.

"It's good."

"Stiles... Is he ok? If you want to talk sometimes, I'm here." Parrish clasped his hands, clenching and unclenching them. His muscles bunched with barely contained rage. "He is my friend. If someone is out to get him, I'd like to know."

"It's not a question of who is out to get him, but who _he_ is out to get. Parrish, I need you to do something for me. It's the real reason I called you here today," the Sheriff said gravely. "I wouldn't ask this of the others."

"Anything, Sir."

"Go to prison."

"Holy fuck!" Stiles' head snapped up from where he was playing with a deck of cards. Buckeye and Ridley had helped him… obtain them, the other day. Might it have been the other day? Time passed strangely within these walls.

"What?" Peter asked lazily.

"You're the Crazy Uncle!" Stiles accused, pointing his finger at the wolf.

"I am an uncle but, I assure you I'm not crazy."

"Yeah yeah whatever… Sure you were perfectly sane, as you ripped their throats out."

Peter grinned. "Exactly."

"Crazy bastard." Stiles smiled back despite himself.

"No, no. If I were insane, I'd be locked up somewhere else. The judge ruled I was competent to stand trial, you see?"

"Yes. About that I have a few questions."

"Go on," Peter said. "I might not answer."

Stiles' hand lingered on the Ace of Spades. "Just three."

"What's the magic word?"

Stiles huffed. "May I ask three questions, please?"

"Three questions and that's it."

Stiles pulled another card from the deck. Seven of Hearts. "Who was the judge?"

"Gerard Argent."

"Same guy who funds this place?"

"The very same. You're down to two."

"No, I'm not. I only asked one." Stiles tapped his fingers on the deck.

"Follow-ups count."

"That's not fair!"

"Neither is life."

"I heard this rumor," Stiles twirled the Eight of Clubs in his hands. "About your sister- "

"Enough." Peter abruptly jerked his whole body back. "Let's go."

"I know I called you crazy and this might be fresh news, but we're kinda stuck here." Stiles shrugged, shuffling the deck. "Little late for that. Wait maybe not. You've been here what, since the stone age? Long enough to get in on the toilet wine industry? Ridley might just have been pulling my leg here." Stiles rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. "Is there a toilet wine industry?" he asked eagerly.

"No, but there _is_ toilet wine, though, and I do not suggest trying it."

Stiles nodded absently. "Okay. My point is that the guards might have grown complacent."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Doubtful. It's not my fault that you didn't think to come up with at the least twelve contingency plans."

"Uh-huh, Mr. Contingency Plans, how's that working out for you?"

"I'm still here, aren't I."

"Not great then, I take it."

Peter hummed in answer and strode over to the bunk, boxing in Stiles in his seat, sprawled as he was on the bed.

"You've got to stop doing that." Stiles yelped.

"Doing what? Those are Black Jacks cards, you've been a naughty boy."

"Never mind." Stiles slid the rest of the deck into the beaten up case with a shake of his head.

"So what if they are, finders keepers, losers weepers."

"Limited scruples is attractive."

"Oh stop, you're making me blush," Stiles tonelessly exclaimed.

Peter tugged him off the bed and towards the cell entrance.

"Hey, quit that. At least tell me where we are going first."

"We aren't going anywhere. I am going to check up on some information while you are going to take a shower."

"This isn't the dark ages, man. I haven't found Jesus. Don't burn the witch, no holy water for me, oh no siree."

"Do you melt when normal water touches your skin?"

"Nope."

"Then a shower you will take, before the stench gets ranker." Peter retorted taking a left turn.

"Hey what if I get assaulted? I've heard about this you know. Big Bubba is going to try and be pals with parts of me that don't want palin'," Stiles argued and stomped after Peter as they moved down the hall.

"This is my territory." Peter placated him, still dragging Stiles into what looked like the set of a Saw movie. "And here-," he proclaimed with a flourish, "is my private shower."

"All this." Stiles spread his arms out in the limited space, distinctly unimpressed. "Peter, is that supposed to be a curtain?"

"Exactly. Privacy."

"Do your eyes work? If the thing was ever white I'd say it's trying to surrender. Where did you find it, the sewer?"

"I found it in the disposal," Peter revealed.

"The disposal." Stiles' eyes went wide.

"Be glad you even have such luxury."

"I'll make sure I leave five stars on my yelp review," Stiles grumbled.

"The left knob's touchy, try not to burn yourself. It'd be a shame to mark up such pretty skin before I got my teeth into it. "

Peter coolly pulled a towel resting with a green bar of soap on a rack. Stiles swallowed. The man had to be aware of the way those pants hugged his ass when he bent over to set the items down on the bench.

Peter winked.

Definitely aware then. Stiles didn't care. So what if it made the man's ego bigger to catch him staring.

"Stiles."

"Yes."

Peter grabbed his wrist. Stiles took in a harsh breath at the contact. Peter's bare flesh rubbed against his.

The Wolf placed a hand on his chin. Stiles tilted his face up, staring directly at the beast. The rough calluses of Peter's fingers delicately traced his jaw.

"Hi," Stiles stammered, Adam's apple bobbing. He reached out, hands landing on one of Peter's massive shoulder.

"Hello," Peter replied, tongue swirling around the word.

The exhale of his breath tickled Stiles' nose. His mouth opened in anticipation. Stiles licked his lips anxiously. Those beautiful eyes turned breathtaking red. He fell forward.

"HALE!" Shouted a voice.

They broke away from each other like two teenagers who'd just been caught in the hall closet by the janitor. Stiles didn't get far. Peter still had a firm grip on his arm.

"Don't drop the soap." Peter leered.

"Let me guess, unless you're here?" Stiles retorted, breathier than he'd intended.

"Precisely. I should be back in no more than five minutes."

He made no move to leave.

"Hale!" The new man called again.

"You're being paged."

"Indeed," Peter said his eyes still that stunning crimson. The echoes of power climbed up Stiles' spine. God if he didn't get his lips on this man right now...

He yanked the Wolf in for a desperate kiss. It was perfect and too much and not enough, all at once. Then a hand was yanking at his hair. Teeth tugged at his bottom lip. Stiles moaned.

"Ewe!" Someone exclaimed behind them.

Peter was the first to pull back with a deadly growl.

"I give it a 7 out of 10. Could have used more tongue and been longer. Overall, hot." Ridley clapped. "Well done."

"That's our baby boy, how can you even!"

"Guys!" Stiles twisted around with a snarl. "Don't take this the wrong way but I so hate you right now! Like 'spit on your corpse' levels of angry."

"Awe, sweetie, there's still time for you to rub one off while the big boys have a chat," Buckeye insinuated slyly.

Ridley wrinkled his nose. "Use that voice again and you're so not getting laid."

"Yeah. It kinda made me want to shoot myself," Buckeye admitted.

"I'm going to do one better than shoot either of you." Peter stalked towards Buckeye and Ridley.

"Woah now." Buckeye brought his hands up. "Let's take care of this, er, swiftly, preferably hebreathing, with limbs intact."

They retreated out the room.

Peter cast one last longing look in Stiles direction, before leaving. The sheer heat of his gaze could set whole villages ablaze.

His mere presence made Stiles want to raze everything to the ground. Salt and burn, then never look back. There wasn't supposed to be any room for those kind of thoughts. He had a job to do.

Stiles lips curved upwards. _No reason he couldn't have fun in the meantime._ He'd always been a great multitasker.

Pleased, Stiles tested the shower knobs. Once the water reached a suitable temperature he stepped under the spray. Stiles lathered the cloth with soap and started with his hair, gliding the glove down his body. He ignored the numerous ones littering his chest. They didn't matter.

Then down again, along his hip. He traced the other familiar scar there, silver by now with age and healing. His back itched under the scratch of the washcloth. He dragged his nails over the irritated skin. They came up bloody.

He shuddered, watching the soapy water turn red as it slid down his body and swirled into the drain.

Stiles closed his eyes and bowed his head, shutting off the world. He pressed his back against the cool tiles, sighing as the cold leached into his skin and forced the inflamed heat to subside.

The wash rag hung limply from his hands and he took a moment to wring it out. What now?

Stiles grinned ruefully. He could always take some advice from a friend.

Stiles rolled his eyes at himself, but he still let his hand slide down his body, almost against his will. He wrapped his left hand around himself. His cock was already standing proudly at attention, certainly up to the task.

He immediately set an almost punishing pace. The edge of pain made him hiss, it had been too long since he'd done this. His skin felt tight and hot, the weight of his sex heavy in his hand. He felt ten times as sensitive as usual.

He closed his eyes imagining. What would it be like, if it were Peter's calloused hands instead of his own? Would those rough fingers hold him tightly? Or would they stroke him lightly? Peter was definitely experienced, Stiles would bet that he'd use just the perfect amount of friction and drag. That man would know when some pain was welcome, he would probably play Stiles' body like an instrument.

Stiles gasped in pleasure. He stroke himself faster. The soap wasn't the best lubricant, but it was more than enough, Stiles relished the edge of friction it brought.

Peter would wear a cocky smirk, he imagined. Until he put the man on his knees. Then it would be his turn to be smugly satisfied.

Stiles panted, thrusting his hips against nothing.

God, let that mouth leave kisses and nips trailing down Stiles' body. He wanted that, badly, right now.

If he could have those red eyes looking up at him, their owner kneeling at his feet.

Stiles' dick twitched eagerly. He added a little twist at the end, savoring the jolt of pleasure even as he kept imagining all the things that he would love to do to Peter. Or Peter do to him.

Christ, he was getting so close, just from the mere thought of Peter sucking his cock.

He'd hold the man by the hair, and ease himself down that throat. He'd bet that he wouldn't even have to force Peter, that man could probably take him down to the root without even grunting.

Stiles moaned, not even thinking about staying quiet, forgetting about the communal showers.

Peter's talented tongue, working itself over his dick. The wolf greedily swallowing every inch of him.

Stiles groaned into his fist and spilling into his hands, mind still stuck on the image of Peter on his knees before him, nose buried against Stiles' skin, swallowing, swallowing...

Stiles' legs almost collapsed under him and his eyes rolled up. His chest heaved up and down with the exertion, body still twitching under the after effects.

If this was just from jerking off, he wondered what the sex would be like.

He was going to die and it'd totally be worth it, he thought to himself.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself from the wall, standing a few seconds until he regained feelings in his legs. The rest of his shower was all business, as he washed off the last of his _activity._

He turned off the water and dried himself, then stepped out of the shower to grab his clothes.

Wrinkling his nose, Stiles sighed and pulled the scratchy garments back on. What was the thread count, twenty strands max? He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror and stuck his tongue out. The massive black bags under his eyes were a nice touch. All natural.

A furtive movement behind made Stiles jump. He whirled around. _Nothing._

He tugged at his hair, watching the glass.

"Peter?"

The walls seemed to scoot closer. Stiles brace one hand on the sink and the other the brick. The stone coarsely whispering at the edge of his awareness.

Someone or something was watching him. He could feel it, he could… There was another face in the mirror.

"Peter, is that you?"

In a blur of movement, the visage was gone.

The bar of soap slipped from Stiles' fingers and clattered onto the ground. The noise echoed off the walls. He reached for another towel, even though it wasn't much as weapons go by. Maybe he could loosen that rod?

A vicious growl erupted from behind him. The sound rolled over Stiles, making every single one of his hairs stand on end. It felt like a spirit was raking its cold fingers violently over his skin.

Stiles swore. "I should never have dropped the soap," he said aloud, spinning around as fast as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

Blood swirls in with the soapy water, washing down the drain.

Stiles watches it with half lidded eyes. He isn't pouting.

Some people think of fighting as a dance of the tribal nature with lots of heavy bass and sweaty, half-naked men. Although he doesn't mind the half-naked men part, Stiles figures it's more of a sort of ballet. Precise, rigorous moves and collected spins followed up by brutal footwork. A coiled cobra choosing to strike when his fangs will prove most lethal.

Elegance.

This is why his attacker fails. He relies entirely on brute strength. He hasn't learned that the bigger the tower, the more structural faults there tends to be.

Winning for Stiles, once he figures that out, is simple. _Disappointingly so._

Take a punch to the solar plexus, let yourself fly back onto the ground, employ some strategic use of your surroundings, then bam- one knocked out Werewolf.

Right now Stiles is enjoying the pleasant feel of the cool tile against the harsh scrapes on his hands and his back. Sure, his clothing is soaked, but that was an anticipated loss anyway. The wall might be a bit grimy, but the bench isn't so bad. The release of pent-up energy works wonders for his mood.

There is the added bonus of the prone body beneath his feet. It's the simple pleasures, really.

The twin -which one of them, he isn't completely sure- lets out a low groan.

See the great thing about being underestimated?

The looks on everyone's faces, more specifically the wolf's face when Stiles wallops him, is all too worth it. Nothing like a trussed-up werewolf to complete your evening. Stiles feels the rip and give of the jumpsuit as he tears it at the top. The strips of fabric scratch against his skin. The stimulus is too much, which is why he doesn't mind destroying it further. _It can't hurt to add a few more knots._

Which leads to thoughts about Peter and sexy times.

Peter could wipe the floor with this insect. There's no question of that. He's the most experienced of the two. Aiden isn't here for Peter, or else he would have smelled him or heard his heartbeat and wouldn't have bothered. Though Stiles suspects this is still _about_ Peter. He isn't self-centered enough to think it boils down to anything else.

It's one thing to just stake your claim, but you have to defend it. Peter bought him some time with Deucalion, and their living arrangement had certainly helped. Sooner or later, someone was bound to get ideas.

When you want to break a chain, you aim for the weakest link.

Stiles appears to be that link.

Binding Aiden with a jumpsuit top, after the wolf slipped on the soap, might have been a stroke of genius (or luck). On the other hand, Aiden knowing exactly when to be here...

"Aiden." The wolf halfheartedly snarls beneath Stiles's feet. Confirmation of name is obtained. "Yes, you."

Aiden grunts.

"The stupid one," he taunts.

The wards prevent the wolves from full shift, but take nothing away from their strength. Pinning the fucker in the first place had been unpleasant as hell. Stiles's left eye is still smarting and his shoulder has seen better days.

"Aiden...Where's your brother?"

"Fuck you," the wolf hoarsely cries.

"That's not an option," Stiles gleefully sings.

He barely has time to start kicking Aiden, when a familiar figure comes into view.

"Look what I found," Peter says, dragging a wolf who bears a striking resemblance to Aiden, by the scruff of his neck into the room. "A peeping tom." He slams him into the sink. Porcelain dust showers everywhere.

Stiles swears he can taste the grit on his tongue.

"Anything you want to say to him?" Peter growls, the threat of his claws inches from the boy's throat.

"Yes," Stiles hisses, mouth splitting into a nasty grin. "Tell Deucalion not to mess with what doesn't belong to him." The twin shakes his head in a dazed state.

Stiles gently trails his fingers over the boy's face. He grips Ethan's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. The anger in that stare has him as giddy as a kid on Christmas.

"Peter's mine." He slams his fist into the man's nose. "And I _won't_ be intimidated."

The young wolf would have fallen if it weren't for the way that Peter is gripping hair so tight.

"And that was necessary?" Peter asks.

He shrugs. "Felt good… Besides, now they match."

Peter lets go of Ethan and the young wolf stumbles back.

"Take your brother and go."

The twin doesn't need to to be told twice. He grabs Aiden and flees out of there like the devil is on his heels.

"It's funny when they think I'm the unstable one," the wolf remarks.

Stiles throws up his hands. "You slammed a guy's face into a bathroom sink, Peter."

"Yes, it was either that, or let you have him." Peter shrugs his shoulders. "Don't' think I haven't noticed. Poor Frank is still listless."

"Don't bring Frank into this!" Stiles raises his shoulders defensively.

"Mhm. What about Aiden? I suppose he did all of that to himself?"

Peter's body suddenly tenses. To Stiles's trained eye, he appears to be wound tighter than a springboard. The click of heels, echoing off the brick, demands the listener's immediate attention. Stiles settles a hand on Peter's bicep.

"Not yet," He whispers, for they can't risk it.

"Hello boys. Miss me?"

A voluptuous figure struts through the doorway. From her miles of leg to her artfully done brows and low cut doctor attire, here is a lady killer.

Peter's body shakes like the mast of a ship in a great storm.

"Not. Yet." Stiles digs his nails into Peter's skin under the guise of gripping him tighter.

Peter subtly drops his shoulders.

"Oh, that much?" Katie snipes, cleaning flecks of something from under her nails.

"Stiles, is that you?" she asks with a painted-on smile. Her lips are colored a bright rouge, resembling squashed strawberries. The color washes her out under the fluorescent lights, makes her look positively ghoulish. "How charming!" She cheerfully says.

Stiles narrows his eyes.

"Kate," the wolf bites out. "It's been a while."

"Peter, now we're all here. How's the family?" she chimes.

"I wouldn't know. They're dead."

"Aw, sweetie. Don't look so mad. It's about to get worse from here, so save some for later. Let it fester... yes, that's good. We all need a purpose."

"Funny, yours is being an unlikeable psychotic bitch," Stiles barks back.

"Yes, well, at least I didn't kill an innocent one in cold blood like you, Stiles."

"Because the ruthless extinction of my entire family is a pure mission," Peter counters.

"You're monsters." Kate dismissively waves her hand. "So yes."

The growl that Peter emits starts as a low rumble then morphs into the type of sound that precedes earthquakes.

Kate raises one well-manicured finger. "You hush. I'm talking to Stiles."

Stiles fidgets. _This can't be good._

"I almost forgot!" She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a shiny black device.

A recorder. _Oh shit._

Kate pushes a button. "Remember this?"

The recorder plays: **"Oh god!" "** **Ma'am, where are you?** "

She stabs the button with a frown. "No, let's fast forward to the good part." Her lips stretch into a grin.

There are a few seconds of interference in the 911 call, then: " **It's… it's... the Sheriff's kid.** "

"Oh, officer," she mimics, raising a hand to where her heart might have been. _If she had one._

"I was in fear of my life! I swear!" She recites, her eyes going wide as she clasps both palms together.

"Isn't that just… incriminating."

"Isn't it?" Stiles snarks back, unwilling to budge.

Peter presses up against him, and the man's reassuring weight settles at his back. From the wrinkle of her nose, they might as well have gotten their funk on right in front of Kate. _Message received: there will be no scoodlypooping in this establishment._

Five more orderlies with vacant eyes file into the room. The push of the bodies forces Stiles and Peter back, into a retreat.

 _One_. Big scar on their chin.

 _Two._ Yet another set of muscles.

He counts three shuffling in the hall. Eight in total.

"What do you want, Kate? Derek's not here," Peter throws out. The way his fingers are trying to flex into claws says he is just as aware of their predicament as Stiles is.

"Don't be silly." She laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Yes, silly me, expecting you to be as taken with my nephew as he is with you."

"We both have our toys, Peter. You know how it is."

"I can't say that I do."

She takes a step towards Stiles, with four orderlies flanking her. Before Stiles can shush him, Peter growls.

"Now, now." Kate tutts. "Sharing is caring."

"No."

A group of orderlies moves along the back wall and surrounds them.

"Peter, you really shouldn't have said that."

"Story of my life."

Stiles steps away, rolling his wrists to warm up his joints.

He has the feeling this is only one battle in the long-standing war between Kate and Peter. Stiles is actually rather offended that she doesn't consider their little clash ongoing.

Sure, he might have been thrown in jail -ok prison- but that doesn't make it game-over.

"Stiles will be coming with me."

"I don't think so, Katie," Peter draws back.

Stiles shoots the wolf a desperate look-the hell is he thinking?

"It's good that I wasn't asking _you_ then, isn't it? How about it, Stiles? Time's wasting and my men are twitchy."

He bites his lip. There are too many. Even with both of them. "Leave Peter alone."

"And?" She twirls her hair.

"And I'll go with you," Stiles gambles, watching her men inch closer.

She chuckles, addressing the room."He's good."

 _C'mon, take it!_ Stiles wills. "Full compliance," he offers.

"Tempting," she allows.

Stiles pointedly looks at Peter. _I'm not going to apologize. Don't you see? She won't be leaving without me._ He faces her again. "You have to promise that he won't be hurt."

"Stiles," Peter tries, his voice fraught with warning. "Don't, she can't-"

"Please." Kate interrupts with a wave. "What do I want with that old thing?"

"Then we have an understanding?"

She holds out her hand.

Stiles walks forward, the weight of Peter's gaze burning into his back. A pair of handcuffs fastens over his wrists. The clasp of the metal assaults his ears. He doesn't look back. _Can't._

Hands harshly grip his arms. "Hey!" he protests.

"Shut up," the beefy lady to his right spits. The two orderlies on either side lead him out.

The click of Kate's heels roughly kissing the concrete follows behind Stiles.

Out the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a few of her men coming to block the entrance. Stiles twists his head to look at her over his shoulder.

"Take this one to the room," she orders.

Stiles stumbles. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to tidy up a bit."

He flails. "What's happening?"

She snaps her fingers. "Get him."

She strides over to Stiles, hips swaying. She is so close that he can see the brown at her roots.

Kate strokes his hair, then one slender hand finds his pressure points. Her nails tear into his scalp.

Stiles screams as his body convulses.

"You promised!" he rasps out.

Her lips brush his ear as she tugs on the lobe.

"I lied."

No amount of desperate pleading could stop the darkness from claiming his vision.

If you have ever heard a werewolf roar, it's not a natural sound. It does not begin as a distant rumble, then roll closer like thunder.

Oh no. A werewolf's roar strikes like lightning that singes the nerve endings and smashes into you, stronger than a hundred thousand volts of electricity that fry each cell in your body.

These orderlies have clearly never heard an alpha werewolf roar.

Growl, yes. But roar? No.

They simply can't comprehend the terror that accompanies the sound.

For a moment they freeze.

A moment is all Peter needs.

He jerks free of the orderlies and sprints for the door. _For Stiles._

With a snick of his claws, he has an orderly's head rolling down the hall. Then somebody takes a slice off Peter's back. He gets his hands on two orderlies in quick session, grunting, and finally a solid snap. Corpses with necks broken slide to the floor. In front of him stands one orderly with a scalpel, undoubtedly quick in close quarters-he doesn't have time for this. As he dispatches him, the face of the lady in front of Peter holds the warmth of Alaska in mid winter.

Ridley and Buckeye skid upon the scene with the grace of a train collision, taking a few of Kate's people with them. Together they make short work of the rest.

It is amazing what a pissed alpha and two extra switchblades can do.

"Five minutes," Peter says.

"What?"

"I leave for five minutes!"

"It's Stiles," Ridley tries to reassure. "He knows what he's doing."

"Clearly not, since he trusted Kate Argent."

"I wouldn't say that. Look, simple headcount. How many of them compared to you?" Ridley prompts.

"It doesn't matter. If I hadn't been at that all-important meeting _someone_ decided to call..."

Peter punches out a mirror. The sound of glass shattering is a soundtrack to his epic man pain.

 _God where is his nephew when he's needed?_

"Cause we really needed _more_ bad luck," Buckeye snarks.

"Shush," Ridley orders his man.

"Don't start throwing your stones at me!" Buckeye warily says to Peter.

Peter snaps. "Why? You're not made of glass."

Buckeye waves his hands, palm face down, trying for unthreatening. "Yeah, but I'm also not who you're really pissed at."

"Ma always said 'don't get mad get even'," Ridley offers.

"We're going to get him back," Peter vows darkly.

"At what cost? Look, I like the kid but..."

"I made a promise to a dying man!" Peter roars, body vibrating with the force of his words.

Buckeye flinches and Ridley places a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm getting him back and that's the end of it."

"Told you he was perfect!" Buckeye suddenly exclaims.

Peter rears back at the sudden mood whiplash. "What?" The wolf raises his eyebrows incredulously.

"Didn't I say he was perfect for our baby?" Buckeye sobs into his man's shoulder. "The best wife."

"You did, darling," Ridley soothingly pats him. "That you did."

"I promised." Peter forcefully repeats.

Ridley arches an eyebrow in challenge. "I think it's a bit more than that."

Kate prowls over, reaching out a well-manicured hand. Stiles's knees ache against the stone ground. _That's it, come closer._ Although his feet are folded under him, he has just enough space to lunge. So that's what he does.

She leaps back, long tresses of blonde hair fluttering to the sides. He wants to rip it out of her skull. He grunts when the chain pulls at his wrists.

"Feisty! I like it." She pats his head like a puppy.

He twists his head to bite her. His teeth clack together, inches from flesh. The smack of her hand against his face is jarring. He lets himself tumble down, not having to exaggerate the force of the hit. He is already on his knees, so why not make it more humiliating?

"You're no better than the dogs you run with." Kate stands, apparently done with stooping to his level.

Stiles bites his cheek till he tastes iron. _Fuck you too, Kate._

"Oh and Stiles." She purrs, licking her lips like a big cat before a kill.

"Don't worry about Peter... I'll take care of him."


	5. Chapter 5

"So what's the plan?" Buckeye queries.

"Plan?" Peter smirks as the two men fall into step with him.

"I assume you have a plan... man you always have a plan. It's been almost a week," Buckeye frowns.

 _I know,_ Peter nearly says. _A long few days with an empty bunk._

"You know what they say about assumptions," Ridley interjects.

"Ha," Buckeye huffs.

"Scheme is my term of prefrence," Peter corrects.

"My bad. I didn't realize you were a _can-_ taloupe and not a _cant-_ aloupe."

"Well," Ridley starts.

'Well' what?" Peter repeats as the men walk down the hall.

"Well what are we going to do?" Buckeye breaks in.

"The same thing we do everyday Pinky...try and take over the world," Peter summarizes.

"I suppose it got somthin' to do with why you had me bring this?" Buckeye shakes the jug in his hand, causing the liquid inside to jostle.

"It might," Peter confirms as they reach their destination. It just so happens to be a table in the corner of the common room where an attractive youth is cleaning his nails. A large African-American man is seated to his right.

"Toilet Wine?" Isaac sneers. "Peter, you've outdone yourself."

" _Laced_ toilet wine," Peter corrects.

Isaac, despite himself, leans forward and becomes interested in the proceedings.

"Means you can get drunk, poppet," the older werewolf leers.

Isaac wrinkles his nose. "Just no, you sound like Deucalion." The curly haired were-wolf peers at him with sceptical eyes. "You're not _that_ old." He stops cleaning his nails to take the container anyway. He may not take any shit, but Isaac is willing to dish it out.

"Peter, before you go there's a little something I think you might want to know."

"Get on with it."

"There's this new guard snooping around," He begins. "This guy keeps dropping your boy's name around like a sex ed teacher does the word 'abstinence...'" Isaac finishes.

Peter raises his brow. _That can't be all you know._

Isaac rolls his eyes with a shrug. "Word is that Deuc's taken notice, and if he can see it.."

"Thought he didn't see?" Buckeye comments. "He doesn't; that's the point." Ridley hisses.

"I'll look into it," Peter confirms. "I've noticed the men in uniform have been carrying a little extra tension this week," Peter ventures.

"The first guard?" Grins the cherub. "When the time comes consider it done." Isaac had led many a man astray. He might have a face _like_ an angel but that's where the resemblance stops. Enticing two bored guards to get a bit more...biblically acquainted with his finer assets? Hellishly simple.

"Boyd, I know it was rush order, but can you give me a location?" Peter asks.

The large African-American man narrows his eyes, furrowing his brows as he thinks it over. "Erica says something's up in D block. That's the nearest I have right now. " The man finally offers.

"Kate's office is on that floor." Peter curses as he stalks away with Buckeye in tow. There is a set to his shoulders Ridley has seen before. The way he's holding himself...well they don't call them wolves for nothing.

Isaac exchanges a look with Boyd. "You're welcome" The curly haired young man grumbles.

"Thank you," Ridley says as he tears after the rest of the group.

 _A door, solid frame, yet no lock. Arrogance? Or perhaps design? Not that arrogant, for it seems that the cabinets are locked._ He's sits in the chair contemplating his next move.

Across from him Kate is a breathing devotee to the evil villain checklist. That will change _if he plays his cards right._ Already after only a few day's work he'd managed to convince her that his hands can be cuffed to the front. Patience is a virtue. Though not often one of his, Stiles reflects. Kate is smiling; a sight he's since come to anticipate and dread. Anticipate because rants make an excellent distraction. Dread because evil monologue that isn't being delivered by him is _so_ last year _._

"These aren't yours," Kate crows as she lays a familiar deck of battered cards on the desk.

"They're not yours either," Stiles fires back as it's expected.

"Their presence seems to affect your wellbeing." Kate moves the deck back. "In fact, I think it's making you more violent."

"I'd say that not having them makes me violent." Stiles proclaims.

Kate chuckles low and throaty. It is a sound that might be considered sexy if she wasn't making it while playing tic-tac-toe with his skin.

His hands twitch. _Patience is a virtue._

"What do you want?" Stiles appeals.

"A few things." She cooes. He barely contains his disgusted shudder by playing it off as actual concern.

"The real question is: what do _you_ want?" Kate corrects.

"A million dollars without the need for a getaway car..." He deflects. _Here it comes._

He just about heaves a sigh. "Why?" Stiles has to ask because today he is just masochist like that.

"I know you haven't spoken recently, and that nasty trait of sticking noses in unseemly places seems to run in the family..."

"We had a deal," Stiles reminds, letting the syllables shake. _Fuck you._ _ **Just fuck you.**_

"I'm a provider, and providing you comply, your dad will be safe."

"He can take care of himself." _Don't you dare._

Kate slides a slice of apple between her pert lips. Stiles takes satisfaction in the knowledge that she's a messy eater. She chomps away, munching without a care.

There's a rapping on the door. "Come in."

A willowy young woman carrying a tray steps into the room. There's a sandwich on the tray. While Kate is all enhancements and silicon-laced smile, this young lady keeps it simple.

The guard is striking with a slight gloss to her lips and smartly arranged dark hair. Her eyes are slanted and keen, yet kind. Kira. She sets the tray on Kate's desk and backs away.

"Take the rest of the trash please." Kate commands.

Kira places the tray of discards back on the desk edge so she can go around and grab the trash can. The edge of the knife gleams under the fluorescents.

Stiles has never be one to resist a shiny thing.

"Anything else, ma'am?"

"That will be all," Kate says as she takes a bite from her sandwich.

 _Gluttony is a sin, Katie. You're going to wish for hell._

"Mhmm." Her lips smack together as she eats. "Wienerschnitzel. My favorite…" The way she devours the Polish sandwich is sickening.

Stiles clenches his fists and his knuckles are probably white where they rest in his lap.

It's less noticeable than biting his tongue.

Kira stumbles and trips unto the floor, sending the trash can and its contents all over the floor.

Bits of trash land near Stiles's chair.

A hand slips into the back of his shoe.

This is almost as good as the time she gave him those Reese's cups. Cause nothing beats Reeses cups. _Except maybe tools for escape._ The piece of metal rests against his flesh.

Stiles stifles the tremors that threaten to overtake him.

Kira tosses Stiles a wink and finishes collecting the garbage. An Orderly enters. Kira leaves. The door closes with an ominous click.

Kate polishes off her sandwich.

"Stiles? I'll have that knife back." He lifts his arm and it falls with a clatter out of his sleeve… An orderly calmly picks it up and gives it back to Kate.

"There's a good boy," The women simpers. The words circle him like sharks smelling blood in the water.

"Jesus, what's with you and slamming guys around?" Buckeye queries.

Peter ignores the peanut gallery for he has information to gather.

"What do you want with Stiles?" He snarls at the guard. The man twists in his hands as he groans in pain. He effortlessly pins the man's throat.

The guard might be glaring but his eyes were watering due to the lack of air catching up to him.

"I'm his- his..." the man struggles shaking with effort.

"His what?" Peter relaxes his pressure.

"Friend...I'm Parrish. His friend." Peter lets go. The man slides to the floor gripping his throat in relief.

"Should we tell him?" Ridley asks.

"Tell him what?" The guard pants clutching his throat.

"I got a feeling." Buckeye states.

"I'm supposed to reveal everything to this random guard who claims to know Stiles because you..." Peter pauses incredulously. "'got a feeling?'"

"In my tummy." Buckeye confirms.

"Even better," Peter says, shaking his head.

"That's indigestion, Buckeye." Ridley rolls his eyes.

Parrish nearly snaps his neck looking between them.

"Guys you gotta believe me," The convict tries.

"Every time you get a feeling I end up in trouble. So, no." Ridley shakes his head.

Peter sighs and punches the wall. The rain of concrete and cement briefly makes him feel better.

"Is he... ok?" Parrish whispers to Buckeye.

"No, his boyfriend, your friend, funnily enough was recently kidnapped- er...taken hostage?"

"He's Stiles's boyfriend?" The deputy asks, heart pounding.

"No." Parrish nearly sags in relief. If he doesn't have to explain this to the sheriff, then it is all a big misunderstanding.

"Who told you that boss is his boyfriend?" Buckeye says, outrage written on his face. Ridley squeezes his shoulder.

"Peter is his husband," Ridley corrects. "Or is it the other way around?" Buckeye waggles his brows.

"Stiles is being held hostage?" Parrish wants to meet whoever is in charge of his luck and show them his guns.

"Are you two old ladies done gossiping, or are you coming?" Peter growls.

"Hang on, let me grab my shawl and cane."

"Wait!" Jordan yells. "I can help."

"Oh trust me, you are going to." Peter grins lips stretching over sharp teeth. "Someone needs to get the orderlies' shifts."

"Stiles, I thought we discussed this last time." Kate clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"Gosh, golly-gee-willikers, miss. I sure am sorry. I promise to be better from now on."

"Cute."

"I'm adorable, I know," He admits.

"It won't save you," Kate states.

"Doesn't have to, cause I'm buying time."

"Unlikely," she flippantly remarks.

"I thought we were exchanging movie lines." He mimes confusion, brows drawing together.

"And if I told you we weren't?" Kate pulls out a notepad while pursing her lips.

"How does that make you feel?"

"If I wasn't sure then, I am now!" Stiles exclaims abruptly.

"Of what?"

"There is no nice way to say this, Kate…" Stiles exhales hesitantly. "Can I call you Kate?"

Stiles leans in earnestly, using his doe eyes to their full advantage.

'Miss Argent' seems too formal after all we've been through, don't you think?"

"Bless your heart. I couldn't agree more," The women intones.

"Excellent then."

"Stiles, I want you to feel at ease. This is a chance to handle what's been bottled up inside you..."

"Even my burning questions?" Kate doesn't even flinch.

"Especially those."

"How many dicks did you suck?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, lady."

"Stiles don't call me 've been through this. Naughty boys get punished."

"Whoops forgot, Mistress Argent...How many spankings do I get?"

"I just want to help you get better. We all do," She chides.

"What a complete load of crock. Which brings me back to my main point."

"Croak." Kate deadpans.

"Croak...I mean cock...That's right, Katie. How much cock did you suck to get this shitty-ass position?"

"You disgusting little bitch." Kate snipes. "My father runs this facility."

"Chill...Wait, that's not a no?"

"Any means necessary," She allots. _I'll make you bleed._

"I'm still shocked someone would want to stick it in your sandy vagina."

The taste of iron in his mouth has never been sweeter.

Just beyond them, not even a few hundred feet away, lay the last vestige of the guard. Peter signals Buckeye and Ridley. The other three men flatten themselves back against the wall. W _aiting._ Listening intently.

The first group of guards is gone just like Isaac promised. _So far so good._

Peter tilts his head as he listens for the heart beats of their enemies.

 _Nothing._

"Wait," He voices. "I don't hear anything."

The cell where Stiles is supposedly being kept in solitary confinement is just ahead.

The door taunts him. Peter wants nothing more than to rip the thing of its hinges.

"Buckeye, you first. This is a bit too easy..." Ridley says. Peter growls.

He wants to get to Stiles first. _You're being irrational._

"You know I'm right, Peter. Besides, our friend Katie doesn't like your kind. Stay here."

Peter bares his teeth at the order but reluctantly backs down.

"Parrish will stay with me," Peter says. So far the young guard has proven confident and able to handle orders. Guards don't naturally move like this. Someone had trained him. He also claims to be Stiles's friend. More questions then answers cropped up in Peter mind. _The plot thickens._

"Boss…" Buckeye calls, his voice pointedly even. "You might want to see this."

Peter doesn't need to see for he can very well hear the lack of heartbeat.

"He's not here," Buckeye reluctantly divulges.

 _No shit. Hence the empty room._

"Peter, do you really know anything about why Stiles is in?" _No._

"Yes. For a high speed car chase?" He wished that sounded less like a question. He hadn't cared nor found it very relevant until now. Peter tends to be a bit more thorough than that. Chris's words had thrown him off. And then the recording... It would be easier to classify what they _do_ know about Stiles than what they _don't._

"Hell, we didn't even know about Bambi here." Buckeye points to Parrish.

"Bambi?" Peter asks, willing himself not to smash something. He's already met his quota today with the wall.

"Wide eyes, walking around like he lost his mom, surrounded by wolves." Buckeye explains. Ridley elbows Parrish good naturedly. "Made sense at the time."

Peter returns to casing the room. Drops of iron are overpowered by the sharp tang of bleach permeating the room. Stiles's scent is still saturating the space from floor to...ceiling…

 _Just what are you up to, kitten?_ Peter muses.

Kate Argent has been many things over the years. Stupid isn't one of them.

The problem with any beast is that you have to get it young.

Too old, and it's already picked up numerous bad habits that are often too tedious to correct.

This isn't the beast's fault... One misstep, and the animal is near useless to the trainer.

A useless beast has no place.

Kate remembers working with her father's hunting dogs and educating them from a pup on how to sit, heel, and track. Mostly foxes at first, for their coats are worth a pretty penny. Their rich red furs in winter fetch the highest price. They are creatures who rely on trickery and bothered farmers.

They are never mourned or missed. The dogs were brilliant. Mother would spend hours with Kate and them. Most beasts would resign themselves to the end, but not a fox. Sometimes they turn tail and lead you on the best of chases. Everything happens on the fox's whim...

At the end when you find yourself in the midst of some thicket, a dog's warmth on either side, your hands will shake on the handle of your weapon. The beast will turn on you, snarling its defiance at the barrel of your gun as it lunges.

One had attacked her when she was younger, and the scars on her hands still remained there to this day as small silver nicks. She can remember the agony of the wounds. Her fingers were swollen and unable to grip a gun. That was the first of many times Chris dragged her outside to the kennels as the house shook with Mom and Dad's voices.

Kate had a puppy once. She thought he was small enough to be the sort she would have used to flush game or dig down into the little hidey-holes. He had a brown patch over one eye and the biggest canine grin. Stiles's dark hair and pale form reminded her of this. His eyes… those were fox gold...

Patch...That was the dog's name...His hind legs were bowed, but he'd hobble along after her each morning when she fed the other dogs, with that same grin and tongue lolling out the side.

Then at night Patch would start curled up at the foot of her bed, despite warnings, and eventually he'd end up by her face ready to wake her with kisses in the morning.

Kate stood in the doorway. Yelling echos down the house. Her door creaks. It's too dark in the house for mid summer.

Patch races from her room to the noise. She follows. Chris's door opens but he's not quick enough.

Mom's shouting as she enters the room. Dad's face is a mask of rage...She inhales smoke...The windows are open the fields next door burning for next year's planting. Chris picks her up...

Father strikes mother. Patch jumps.

The memory is hazy after that.

Why hadn't she closed the door? If she'd just closed and locked the door. There is no use among the Argents for useless things. Black ink covers her hand as plastic crunches beneath her fingers. Angrily she tossed the pen into the trash. **  
**

A knock sounds on the door. Kate paints a smile onto her face.

Inmates are invited to stop by her office anytime for assistance with matters, but she hadn't had anything scheduled for tonight.

Perhaps it was that dashing guard on E block? He seems a bit morally correct for her tastes, but nothing a few encounters can't change. Another knock causes Kate's eye to twitch. Another knock.

"That does it!" Fumes the woman as she struts to the entryway...She swings the door open.

No one in sight. Kate blinks, mouth going firm. _Has to be some rowdy prisoners._

The scent of ash drifts towards her. _Maybe a barbeque nearby?_

"Kira," She says, fingers already pressing call. The phone connects almost immediately, summoning the young guard who reminds her so much of herself.

 _Albeit a weaker, less pretty version._ A few minutes laterthe young woman materializes beside her. "Yes ma'am?"

"Is anyone burning something nearby?"

"No ma'am." she shakes her head. "It's not the season." Kate wrinkles her nose the smell of rotten eggs wafting towards her.

"Be a dear and go examine the area. It appears a few inmates need a lesson in proper working hours." The woman gives her a curt nod and slinks off into the bowels of the facility. Kate takes note of the guard's promptness in her duties.

There is one who hasn't settled yet that prefers the adrenaline of the foot chase.

The girl has yet to acquire the knowledge necessary for the long hunt.

Kate will teach her in time if she proves worthy.

Why settle for tadpoles when with the right lure and a pinch of patience you can haul in a bass?

Kate closes the door with a click as she hums to herself. _Didn't she leave the lights on?_ She must have turned off the switch per her closing habit. That has to be it. She hits the switch.

Night falls over the prison and the natural light that came from the one window in her office had long since retreated. She has just been too caught up in making a few… arrangements.

Kate allows herself a satisfied smirk. _So much has been accomplished today._

The lights flicker, the shadows grow teeth..

She hits call on her phone.. It rings, rings and rings.

The shadow in the corner gains large pointed ears and a long muzzle.

A tendril of fear works its way up her spine.

The dial tone buzzs static over the line.

Her fingers ache clutching the device.

The fluorescents sputter once...twice...three times...

The monstrous beast with fox shaped ears reveals itself to be her open file cabinet.

She is being ridiculous. _Who is the decorated hunter here?_

 _The bulbs must be bad._ She thinks, nodding to herself as she ignores the hysterical edge to her laugh.

Kate frowns.

She hadn't opened the file cabinet!

Kate stands, pen falling from her hands with a clatter. She tucks her hair out of her face as she wipes sweat from her brow.

The fearful feeling from earlier returns and takes over her limbs.

Dazed, she makes her way to the open drawer. She never reaches it.

The fluorescents give one last futile cry before dying.

"The wiring in this place is horrid," A voice comments…

Kate wheels around with her heart pulsing in her chest.

"You!' She gasps, breath rattling out of her chest..

"Me." The limber figure taunts, the floodlights catching his cheekbones and exaggerating the hollows of his features.

"You're not supposed to be here," She warns as she reaches for the knife on her thigh.

He steps close and it seems the very night follows. Inky darkness slides from the walls in his wake.

One step.

Two.

Close enough to feel his breath.

Three.

She strikes.

"Katie," Stiles tuts, catching her wrist with a bemused smile on his face.

His fingers press down with unnatural strength.

The knife clatters to the ground along with her hopes.

"Katie… It's a shame." His other hand cups her cheeks gently as he caresses her face.

She shudders under his touch, unable to look away.

His eyes bleed pitch black. "You've been out foxed."


	6. Chapter 6

The man idly adjusted the blue sheet. His hands tapped on the cool metal table. Jordan Parrish, standing beside him, swallowed and wiped the sweat that permeated his brow.

The women's bright blond hair lay strewn around her. The ragged banner of a fallen empire, she the crownless queen. Death had raked his icy fingers over her 'till she lay, impassive as an arctic tundra and just as cold. Good riddance. Parrish couldn't help but think about the thing he'd heard from some of the prisoners regarding Kate Argent: no one would be crying over her. Still, whatever her previous transgressions, it didn't warrant the mess that had been made of her corpse. He was glad for the sheet. She'd cornered him several times, like a lioness on the prowl. He'd narrowly escaped her those several occasions with excuses of bids of workload and watery smiles. He fumbled for something to say.

"The central heating and cooling system are out; should be fixed in a few days, Sir. Seems that the system is fine by all appearances, but nothing's working right in some of the rooms."

"Possibly, and issues with the vents."

"I think so, sir." Jordan's hands felt sweaty around the file he was holding. His uniform clung to him in the heat. The morgue was only slightly cooler than the outside.

"Before we get to that though, perhaps a few meetings are in order. I'd like to get to know the rest of the staff."

"Of course, Director." Parrish passed him a file.

"Please, none of that. I'm but a humble doctor," the man smiled. The action was stranger on his face than impassiveness. The morgue was in Kate's wing and the air had been out for a while on this level of the prison. However, when the Director's dark brown eyes passed over him, Jordan felt positively frigid, unable to hide the shivers of his skin.

"After all, we're going to be working closely together." Jordan almost wanted to have Kate back. This man made his skin crawl. "Only one file? Strange; I assumed there would be more."

"Yes, sir… Just one." Space where two more should have been.

"Those three suspects are still in lockup, correct?" Did he know?

Parrish didn't trust himself to speak. His head was pounding like a blacksmith hitting an anvil. Finally, he forced himself to nod, wincing as it came off stiff.

"I appreciate the swiftness of your actions in apprehending them Parrish. How do you feel about a promotion?" _A promotion?_ What the hell?

"T-t-thank you, Doctor."

"Please, call me Deaton."

[E.I.C.H.E.N. P.R.I.S.O.N.]

By order of the newly appointed Director Deaton, all faculty is to compile their files and assorted history. Original resumes, as well as credentials, are to be updated and submitted in two days. Solidarity is key in this dark time. While the passing of Psychiatrist & Director Kate Argent is regrettable, the greatness she constantly strove towards is to be admired. In light of these recent changes, all faculty may expect Dr. Deaton to closely investigate the loss of Kate Argent, as well as take measures to ensure the safety of all staff. We ask the staff to embrace the reliance Eichen is known for. The new head of security, Jordan Parrish, will be working in tandem with faculty to enact ordinances by the Director. We know that here at Echen, everyone will continue to strive for greatness.

[Head of Security Jordan Parrish] [Director Deaton]

"Hey, bitch," Two low lifes catcalled. He was supposed to be keeping his head down. Whatever this was, he didn't need to get involved. Stiles blinked, looking up from the bulletin.

"Yeah, you bitch." Fuck it.

"That's 'Peter's Bitch' to you, and even then derogatory terms about women... not cool mate."

"Look, we know it was you."

"Yah got Peter stuck in with the new Doc 'cause you didn't want him sticking it in you."

"Woah, first off, there is so much wrong with that sentence that I'm not even going to address it."

"Shut up."

"Huh. You know, the use of the word 'shut up' means I'm right by default."

"I don't like your tone much."

"I don't like your face much," Stiles retorted. "Reminds me a bit of this lady I knew."

"Calling me a pussy?"

"No, I'm calling you Kate Argent, who just so happens to be dead."

"That's it."

"Nah man look we's sorry ok, he was dropped a few times; he doesn't know what he's sayin."

"Apology accepted." Deucalion grinned the boogeyman stepping graciously out from under bed his sharp teeth inviting the two men to run.

Stiles examined his nails.

"My, my, but haven't you grown, sweet one."

"Hello, Duke."

The older man smiled "A performance fit for a King, Pity that Peter couldn't be here to see it."

"Just what are you implying?"

"Nothing at all, my dear boy."

"I'm not your 'dear' anything. Best remember that, Duke."

"Touchy, I like that about you. But the game's only getting bigger."

"What do you mean?"

"Please, you're not really that dense. Take one of their pawns, easily replaced. Take their Queen, and -" Stiles shrugged.

"Oh. . . clever. You truly are a delight. "

"Whatever are you talking about?" Stiles batted his lashes. His wide doe eyes stared up at the other man beguilingly.

"Far be it from me to impose on what's taking place." The Englishman drawled sarcastically.

"Though I must if you want that piece, it's going to take a touch more action to get Gerard Argent." Stiles glared dropping his hands. Deucalion chuckled waving him off.

"Kate is, of course, an excellent start."

Stiles brows drew together and his bottom lip dropped down. His teeth flashed in the barest hint of a smile.

"I do believe you're going senile, Duke."

"Ah, maybe so. It's best I go; it's early yet for an old man like me these aching bones."

"I never said anything about leaving."

The young man placed a hand on Deuc's jumpsuit. To an outsider, it would appear as if the young man was propositioning the werewolf.

"In fact. " Stiles purred eyes lidded. "Why don't we take this somewhere more. private."

Closer inspection proved it was a different story, the arm that wrapped its way around the elder man drew him closer and that hand that stroked his jaw just under it could be felt the sweet kiss of a metal blade.

"I think we have much to discuss you and me."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Somehow I don't think lock up was part of the plan." Buckeye admitted from where languished on one of the bunks in the cell.

"Well if you hadn't tripped." Ridley snapped.

"If I hadn't tripped, if you hadn't stopped!" Buckeye exclaimed.

"I would have just punched someone in front of the guards to get put with you anyway." Ridley reluctantly admitted.

"Idiot."

"Goof." Ridley grumbled.

"I love you too." Buckeye grinned.

"This is sickening." The werewolf stated a hand falling over his face.

"Peter you're the reason we're even in this mess."

"If memory serves you two decided of your own violation to tag along."

"Wasn't like we we're gonna leave the boss with that lady man."

"In my defense it was I who said it was too easy."

"Like swiping a credit card."

"Geez, what happened to candy from a baby." Ridley joked.

"Ain't nobody getting anything from Peter's baby." Buckeye clarified.

"If anyone the baby it's him."

"Lookit, that pout."

"You need to snarl, surprised he hasn't killed us yet."

"I will if you don't shut up." Peter blindly tossed what passed for a pillow in this place at them.

"That was half-hearted at best." Ridley laughed unimpressed.

"C'mon give us a real threat show some fang flash a little fur."

"Maybe if you'd done that your beu wouldn't have run on the lamb."

"I promise I'm going to extravagant you both."

"See what I mean."

"I think I do has al aflutter because he couldn't save the damsel."

"when have you ever seen Stiles be distressed."

"Point, the statement still stands

"Kid was too cool from the start." Buckeye siaid ignoring Ridley's eyeroll. "You know what I mean."

"Yes I do. That one lady she smiled at him I saw it." Ridley agreed.

"What was her name? Remember it was strange he called her by the first name." Buckeye shook his head. "K- something."

"Katie?"

"Nah." Buckeye grimaced.

"Short Kita maybe?" Peter offered.

"Sure it wasn't Nikita." Buckeye japped.

"I'm sure that I'm sure it had a K." Ridley puzzled.

"Kira?" The werewolf provided.

"That was it!"

"Kira yuk-something or other." Buckeye clapped.

"Right." Peter sighed.

"Now this Parrish guy, some things just aren't adding up about your boy." Buckeye glanced at the wrewolf.

"Think he's a rat?" Ridley questioned.

"Peter?" The other two men prompted.

Stiles of all people a rat? The thought had only ever briefly crossed Peter's mind.

"No." The werewolf confirmed. Stiles relations with Jordan while circumspect didn't confirm

"Doesn't move like a cop. The other his friend Parrish, he does."

"His eyes. when he got that deck of cards."

"You saw it too?"

Peter sat up "He stole them correct."

"Well, blackjack didn't gift wrap em and give them to him if that's what you're asking."

"Ridley. " Peter growled.

"Blackjack shot his mouth off about you, trash talk getting out of hand before we could stop em boys across the table Blackjacks gasping on the ground blood every fucking where."

Suddenly the oversized jumpsuit the boy was wearing makes sense. The undercurrent of iron, blood in the building was overwhelming Peter usually didn't notice the scent. The boy's nails had been bitten down the skin on his finger chewed Peter had dismissed the faint smell of blood as from there.

"Whatever he is our boys loyal to you that's for damn sure." Ridley confirmed.

"I'm starting to think we'll have better luck puzzling this out if we do like you said examine what it is we do know." Buckeye parroted.

"If Stiles is a cop. . "Ridley trailed off voice rough. "Then they've got a killer on the force."

"Damn."

"Word is Parrish just go promoted." Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Well here comes the man of the hour himself."

Peter didn't blame the young guard for what had happened, didn't mean he wasn't upset. The decision to let Parrish take them in offered further long term payout.

"Two days must be some kind of record."

"Head of security that's me to bad I can't do anything about the air being out." The young guard replied as Ridley and Buckeye fussed over him. His eyes had gained a few shadows, he himself had lost a few pounds the clean cut nature he'd first carried like a shield had slunk off a mutt with its tail between its legs, shifty and haunted. Peter knew that the most dangerous dogs were those that were scared. Parrish was scared.

"Expected you to get promoted but this is a bit much."

Parrish shrugged an aborted jerk of his shoulder a wry smile on his lips said he agreed.

"The Directors been busy" Peter broached.

Jordans about to get a lot busier too. Head of security lot of trust and a lot of time.

Easy way to keep a man occupied make him focus on his new duties and suss out if he's been complicit. This didn't exactly feel like Kates style he just hoped that Parrish would last the week. She adored her hounds but even more then that making examples out of underlings.

The way the man's gaze flickered around and his fingers rested on his baton proved he was aware of the gravity his "promotion" carried. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

"Not that we mind seeing you but are you here to move us Jordan?"

"No. . its about Stiles." It'd been well over a week since Peter had last seen Stiles nearly two actually. He'd forgotten what it was like to climb into a bunk and not have a warm body there to quell the nights

chill

"When is it not." Buckeye grumbled.

Parrish passed Ridley a photo.

"It appears Kittens been catting around." Buckeye whistled..

"Peter you're going to want to see this." Ridley barked surprised.

The werewolf was already getting to his feet and across the cell space looking ready to break through the bars. He took the photo his hands itching to shift. What the hell was Stiles doing with Deucalion?

"Has been keeping a close eye on him, on everyone but mostly him." Jordan stumbled and cleared his throat. "The Director er Doctor that is has been watching Stiles."

"Kate was the one who took Stiles this doesn't make any sense!" Peter looked up in shock.

"We know she didn't just let him go."

Parrish awkwardly grimaced. "The Director, He prefers Doctor though or well Deaton."

"He would." The werewolf muttered he had been caught up by the implication of what the Argent could be doing. Why would she let go of the esteemed position? How did Kate possibly know Deaton?

"Gerand would never do that to his darling girl he couldn't have fired her." Peter paced thinking out loud.

"Interesting Kate hasn't been by to taunt us she lives for this kind of thing."

Jordans brows drew up confused.

"Peter havn't you heard she's dead."


End file.
